Element of Odd
by lookskindagreyout
Summary: A fic written in responce to Lolita Tides.
1. Element of Odd

(…Aren't we defeating the purpose, if we both remain anonymous?) o.O

This is a super-magical, cannot-be-explained-rationally fic swap! Hazzah! Now, I haven't done this in a while, so forgive if I'm the tiniest bit rusty (like the tin man after a vacation to New Orleans) on such things. I figure this pairing shouldn't surprise anyone, as the other fics I've written should already alluded to the fact that I'm. Pretty. Freaking. Weird. Long live absurd ships! ^ ^

_*This is exactly the reason I don't own Fringe. Hah._

Element of Odd.

He did not ask where they were going- he knew far better than to do something like that. The silence of his pail friend would only leave him feeling even more hollow. But Walter could not sop himself from mumbling "Shotgun," as they approached a black car that he had never seen before. September spared him a glance that may have been confusion, but in an instant, the emotion vanished into a perfect mixture of enigma and calm. Walter was a scientist, and quite liked questions, but he kept silent, for now, and suddenly had a hankering for a jelly roll.

September did not understand Walters' infatuation with sugary things, as he himself found them bland and nearly flavorless. But he somehow felt obligated to fulfill his companions' unvoiced request. They got into the car and September drove in the direction of the nearest bakery; whatever the circumstances, Walter was his guest. Walter remained in the car as September entered the well-lit shop, his eyes drawn for a few seconds to the large sign that boasted their twenty-four hour trade practices. The man behind the glass counter did not give September so much as a second glance, even as he removed his black fedora to reveal a complexion as pail as the white linoleum under his shined shoes, "Do you have strawberry jelly rolls?" he questioned.

"Half dozen, full dozen, or single?"

"Full, please." September plucked a small fold of money from his sleeve, placing in beside the register as he took the strawberry-pink box and left. The stranger behind the counter had already forgotten him, September could feel his tired thoughts of his next break in a half an hour.

Walter was shuffling through the neatly filed maps and insurance information in the glove box when September neared the window, raising his knuckles to tap the glass. Walter looked up, and exclaimed excitedly, rolling down the window and taking the box of pastries from him. He was finishing his first and licking the jelly from his fingers when September got into the drivers' seat, buckling his seat belt in place.

September shook his head negatively when Walter offered him one, and Walter looked confused and slightly alarmed.

"I do not enjoy sweets," September explained shortly.

"Do they give you abdominal irritation?" Walter asked.

"No."

"Why did you get them, if we're not going to share them?" Walter smiled.

"You wanted them. And you are often denied what you want," September pulled away from the curb and into the flowing lane of traffic. He had already anticipated Walter's next question, and answered it, "I purchased the full dozen. The drive will be lengthy."

"So I get all twelve."

"Is that a problem?" September asked emotionlessly.

"Oh, no, no complaints here. But you're _certain _I get twelve?" Walter grinned slyly, and September did not like the rhetorical feeling of the question.

"Yes."

Walter held out a jelly roll to him, "Go on then. Bakers' dozen, there are thirteen in the box."

September's non-existent brows raised for a spilt second in surprise, "The cashier made a mistake?"

"No. It's a bakery, you almost always get a bakers' dozen, these days," Walter smiled again as September removed a white handkerchief from his inside pocket, taking the sticky pastry in his protected fingertips, "more bang for your buck, and I'm all for the modern economy. All but for the recession, that's not at all fun." he chuckled at his own musings, as September did not.

September glanced away from the road at the jelly roll, then over at his companion, "Why do they call it a dozen, when there are more than twelve?"

"Beats me. Some things in life I've just learned to accept at face value," Walter started in on his second pastry hungrily. September took a bite of his own, chewing mechanically, and Walter exclaimed happily, as if the bite had been a consent to his victory, "you look like you're going to work!" he chirruped.

September frowned with question, "Why does your comparison of my image echoing that of the average individual in their commute to their everyday, mundane labors bring you joy?"

"It's cute!" Walter beamed, "you need a cup of coffee, and to be yammering away on one of those cellular telephone-um-" he pointed to his ear, loosing his train of thought.

"An earpiece?" September offered.

"Exactly! Listening to Rush Limba on the radio! Is he still alive…?"

"These things- did you do them?" September interjected, "The actions are minute, and I fail to see what creates such an enthusiastic response about them."

"No," Walter admitted sheepishly, "The only regular job I ever held was teaching, and even then I was sporadic about it. And I was too destitute for a car. I was very thin, now that you mention it…"

"So you enjoy my actions because they resemble the insignificant routine of the stereotyped commute to the workplace?"

"No. I told you, I think it's cute."

"Does it make me appear normal?" September asked softly.

"Normality is a lie, September," Walter replied seriously, finishing the fourth round of jelly on his fingers, "and anyone who claims otherwise is crazier than I am."

September finished his pastry in three bite, and Walter looked impressed, "Thank you," September said.

"Why are you thanking me? You purchased the sweets," Walter grumbled.

"Not for that. For not thinking that I am odd." September said, "because I know that I am."

"Hah."

September removed his eyes from the road to look over at his companion, once again confused at the scientist's unexpected antics. Walter had crossed his arms behind his head, stretching tiredly as he shut his eyes, the half-empty, pink box on the top of the console, "And just what makes you think that you're odd? That you don't like the things that other people do, that you don't think the way that they do?"

"Yes," September said, failing to see the point in his companions' sentiments.

"Sure, sure," Walter murmured, growing drowsy, "because, after all, the ignorant masses are _always_ right…" and he fell asleep, or at least fell silent. The drive resumed wordlessly.

A few hours passed, and Walter's cheek twitched in his slumber, an indication of slight discomfort, in his distant and unremembered dreams. September's invisible eyebrows dipped in worry, as he watched soundlessly. Walter's face only continued to tighten in the brief moments of light allowed by the passing street lamps. He was having a nightmare.

"Walter," September said softly, his pale eyes returning to the road ahead as he drove.

There was no response from his companion in the off-drivers' seat. Walter's fingernails began to rip into the leather of the armrest.

"Walter," September tried again, Walter still asleep. As odd as it had seemed, he had been enjoying watching him sleep, as he did not partake in the habit. But this new feeling of tense fear alarmed him.

September slowed the car, reaching over to place his hand over Walter's white and trembling knuckles, "Walter." Worry, an emotion that was still very new to him, crossed Septembers' face, as he looked into an expression of fear and pain. September found himself suddenly taking on the emotion of fear that his friend emitted, knowing that the emotion was not his own, but disliking it none the less.

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't let Walter's bad dream continue, or he himself would continue to be effected with fear. But how was a sleeping person woken? A thing so small as a touch or a word snapped the mind out of its racing pace, disrupting the slumber process and waking the individual. Words and touch weren't working. Glancing ahead to be certain of clearance, September leaned across the center console, kissing the bitter crease at the side of Walter's lips, repeating his name.

Walter jerked his head from its place against the lip of the shoulder rest, exhaling sharply. He blinked blurrily for a few moments, disoriented, and stared at September.

September wondered what the burning on his own face meant- was he ill?

"Aren't you driving?" Walter asked distantly.

September nearly ran a red light, and slammed on the breaks to avoid cross-traffic. Walter laughed excitedly, his sense of danger slurred drowsily.

"You were having a bad dream," September said emotionlessly as the drive resumed normally.

Walter sat staring at his hands in his lap for a few moments, blinking slowly, then rolled down the window and inhaled the crisp, dawn air deeply, "Where am I?"

"We're almost there," September replied, wondering if his transgression had gone unnoticed. He knew that people tended to react quite strangely, when it came to such things. Especially, it seemed, if they were kissed by someone of the same gender, and September suddenly realized the jeopardy that he had placed his friendship in.

"Oh. Oh, you're not Peter," Walter smiled, stretching as his spine popped quietly back into place, "That's good. I would start to worry about the boy, kissing me like that."

September suddenly felt heavy, his gaze frozen on the road ahead, replying the only way he could, "Yes."

"Thank you."

September glanced over at him.

Walter stuck his hand out of the window, splaying his fingers to feel the cold air pressing into his palm, "I know how awkward things like that are, for you. And putting yourself at such discomfort for my gain is quite generous of you."

"Yes."

"I should tell you that you're blushing," Walter mused, flexing his nearly numb fingers.

"That is the conduction of temperature on my features?" September asked.

"Yep. Here," Walter leaned over the island, gently touching the side of Septembers' face with his cold fingertips, then placing his cool palm across his cheek, "better?"

"No," September admitted. Walter's fingers crept behind his ear, the cold points strangely numbing. Following their slight pressures, September found himself drawn from the road, his lips then pressed into a firm embrace with Walters'. He wondered at the abruptness of the kiss, and if the strange fluttery feeling in his chest was another emotion he had pulled from his friend. Walter pulled away, and kissed him again, seeming to enjoy the experience, not at all nervous or uncomfortable. September suddenly felt himself growing weak.

Walter broke away, staring into his companions' eyes. "I smell ocean," he said seriously.

"W-what?" September stammered breathlessly.

A wide grin spread across Walter's face, "I smell ocean!" he released him, bouncing across the cab to stick his head out of the window, "Are we going to the ocean?!"

September swerved and gave a cry to avoid clipping the side rail of the road.

xXx

END.


	2. Freckles Aren't Removable

_Yep yep. It's only fair that I respond, and heartily thank Miss Lolita Tides for playing along. I'll admit... this is pretty fun. ^ ^_

Aren't Removable

"These," Astrid beamed, "are _yours_."

Walter's eyes widened with awe as she settled the heavy cardboard box into his arms, "You're joshing me!" he stammered breathlessly.

"There's a roll of butcher paper in the back room," Astrid laughed, "have at it. Try not to make too huge a mess, while I'm out, please."

Walter lifted out a large, plastic bottle of royal blue paint, "Non-toxic! I can _eat_ it!"

"Please no. I'll be back in a bit, Walter," Astrid smiled, grabbing her keys and coat, heading for the door. Walter did not hear her exit, as he was rifling through the box, exclaiming with delight at each new color discovery. He was beginning to line up the ones he wanted to try first on the counter when he stopped himself, deciding that perhaps things would conclude in a more cleanly way if he retreated to the back room, as his assistant had suggested.

What a lovely, thoughtful girl she was. He'd be sure to paint her something.

Walter scooped the bottles of craft paint off the counter and back into the box, hefting it up and turning on his heel in the direction of the Plexiglas door that separated the back storage room from the rest of the basement laboratory. The room had recently been cleared, and was practically empty, save a few folding chairs, a folded army cot he had purchased a great many years ago for unknown reasons, an empty aquarium, and, true to Astrid's words, a large roll of butcher paper.

Walter set the box onto the carpet and retrieved the tall, heavy roll of off-white paper, tipping it onto its side and gently nudging it with his toe to roll across the floor and softly bump into the opposite wall. It was completely unblemished, and Walter rubbed his palms together with a chuckle, and set to rolling up his sleeves.

He did not know how much time had passed, and the first knock on the door he ignored, thinking it part of his imagination, as he was enraptured in colors. There was another knock, and what felt like a nudge, for some odd reason

He paused, his brush twitching above the paper. The feeling had not been an action, it had been a _thought_. And a very familiar one, at that. Slowly, almost against his will, he looked up at the lab door.

"Hello again, Mr. Walter."

A small smile played on Walters face as he gazed up at his guest, "Well, hello! What a surprise," He sat back on his ankles, wiping his forehead on his wrist to leave a small smudge of purple, "please, come in. It's been a while, but I'll admit I wasn't expecting you, this time."

September watched Walter silently from beneath the brim of his black Stetson. His cold, blue gaze seemed to bore into the doctor, a perfect enigma of doubt, question, and enlightenment. Walter felt it, too, and found the emotion only fathomable with anticipation. September quietly stepped into the room and shut the door.

"Please forgive the mess," Walter said sheepishly as he shut the door, and raised his hand to scratch the back of his neck, traces of yellow left at his touch. September stared in bewilderment at the parts of the collage of colors and spatters that covered the paper that nearly carpeted the floor, "I'm elbow deep in pigments, I'm afraid…"  
"What are you doing?" September asked, careful of his footing as he made his way to his companion. His soft, quiet voice hinted at no emotion, not even curiosity.

Walter paused, then scratched his head with a smirk, coloring it with a blue tint, "…You know, I can't remember. Sometimes I think I do things just to do them. Peter- you've met him?- it really pisses him off."

"You are smiling," September looked down at Walter, who set to smearing a bit of his opus with his thumb, "do you enjoy invoking his anger?"

Walter chuckled, "I don't know. I guess I do, sometimes. I think it's the only emotion he can afford to show me, and I take what I can get."  
They were silent for a few moments as Walter continued to mix colors on his paper plate palette, and September mused the pictures absently, at last lowering himself to a seated position beside his friend, "Did you remember what you were looking for?" September asked at length.

"I did," Walter replied, flicking his brush at the paper. He paused in his creative labors to smile over at him, "and I have you to thank for it, it seems."

September did not reply. His hand slowly moved from his knee, his fingertip touching the paper, a cold, thick spot of paint clinging to it as her moved his hand back, looking uncertain of what to do with it.

Walter offered one of his shirttails, "Put it there. I'm a mess, it won't matter."

September shook his head slightly, slowly rubbing the spot away on the knee of his dark slacks, "…This looks fun," he admitted, and looked up at Walter, "may I try?"

"Certainly! Here, let me get you a fresh piece, this one is coming out awful…" Walter used a box cutter to free a large rectangle of paper, and laid it flat on the carpet, moving aside his own, unfinished masterpiece, gathering the paints and setting them in a row along the edge of the page to hold it down, and he at last offered September the brush, "Go on."

Carefully, September took the brush, avoiding contact with Walter's paint-stained fingers, "What do I do?"

"You paint."

"What do I paint?"

"What do you want to paint?"

"I want to paint what you tell me to paint."

Walter laughed, "Great, wonderful. Well, we're just going to have to break you from your charged state of existence, September. Here are my instructions; what do you see, when you shut your eyes? Paint it."

"I cannot paint with my eyes shut," September said seriously, "but I will try."

A few moment later, Water's brows were raised on surprise, "Well… I guess that is something." he rubbed his chin as he gazed on a perfect circle, painted freehand.

September looked up at him, then back down at his work, seeming slightly crestfallen, "You don't like it. You think it's odd."

"No. I think it's pretty damn awesome," he smiled, "not everyone sees perfection, when they shut their eyes."

Again, September did not reply. He frowned slightly as he tried to rub away another spot of paint on his knuckle. Walter chuckled, pressing paint onto his companion's cheek with his fingertip.

September exclaimed quietly, delving for a handkerchief in his breast pocket. Walter took the opportunity to give him blue freckles, grinning widely, "Mwa hah. Calm yourself, it's only paint, freckle face."

September flushed slightly, grudgingly dropping his attempt at remaining as unblemished as the paper had been. He continued to gaze down at his circle, "Why did you do that?" he asked, after a while.

"Dunno. I like freckles, really."

"Agent Dunham has freckles."

"Yes. She tries to hide them, and she shouldn't. Agent Farnsworth does, as well- right _here_, on her chin." he tapped himself on the chin, "and Peter had them, as a child. I find them to be an adorable quality. On the face, anyway. Now, body freckles…" Walter only shook his head with a grin.

"You have one on your neck," September said without looking up.

"So do _you_!" Walter said, dotting him with color at the collar and gloating with victory, "Hah!"

Biting the inside of his cheek slightly to ignore the impurity, September quickly smeared a single, green stripe under Walter's eye, and Walter looked both shocked and amused at the transgression. The war continued, until September had a single red eyebrow, countless orange strikes on his bald head, and black warpaint. But his revenge was being extracted from the battle, as he held Walter down to complete white whiskers that accompanied the purple tip of his nose.

Walter was roaring with laughter as he seized September by the shoulders, pulling him in for a grinning kiss. His lips tasted of paint. Ears burning, September stared down at him, frozen with shock, and Walter took the opportunity to haul him over, back-down on his unfinished and wet painting, coating the back of his jacket. Walter grinned slyly, chuckling.

September's eyes narrowed, and seized his companion by the collar and pulled him over, into the paint beside him. As Walter's arms tightened around him, September readied for another tumble, his hands tightening their grip on Walter's shirtfront in preparation. But Walter surprised him with another kiss- one that was not meant as a distraction.

September's fingers tightened and pulled on the printed fabric of Walter's chest, his knee instinctively rising slightly to brush Walter's thigh. This brought about a strangely aggressive response, and September found himself drawn further into the embrace. Again. It was happening again.

September moved away and got to his feet, Walter looking confused on the floor as his companion dawned his fedora, the only thing that seemed to have escaped the mess. Walter was frowning with confusion as he sat up, and Astrid entered.

"Hey, Walter, I've got that- oh, hello, Mr. September- GOOD GOD! Walter, what did you do to Mr. September!?" Astrid cried.

"Nothing," Walter grumped with a sigh.

"You're filthy, look at you! Did he attack you, Mr. September? I am so sorry…" Astrid attempted to clean his sleeve with her handkerchief, before he stopped her.

"It's quite alright. I'm afraid this is my fault, I've never painted before, and I may have gotten a bit carried away. Thank you for your time, Walter," September nodded, and left the room. Walter smirked, getting to his feet and shaking his head.

"So aloof, so aloof."

"Walter, these are all pretty… amazing," Astrid admitted, looking around at the scattered paintings.

Walter stooped, gathering up the smeared and incomplete painting from the floor, "You may have them. I only want this one."

xXx

END.


	3. Narcoleptic Osculation

Narcoleptic Osculation

He had a list. He'd been keeping it for a while, tucked in the back of his black, leather-bound ledger, a creased rectangle of notebook paper, yellowed with time. It was a note written with his freehand, which nearly echoed that of a child, as he was not versed in the form of script, but he had to remember it in exactly the way he has learned it. He was writing on the list now, frowning slightly as he struggled with the unfamiliar characters.

_Freckles._

He certainly hoped he had spelled it correctly.

September's attention was caught by his own reflection in the mirror as he looked up from the paper. He blinked at himself for a few seconds, and glanced down at the pen in his hand, then over his shoulder at the empty hotel room outside the bathroom door. Flushing slightly despite himself, September raised the tip of the writing implement, placing a dark dot of the ink on his pale cheek a few centimeters below his eye.

September jumped slightly as his cell phone gave a loud, singular beep, and the dot became a line from his eye to the bridge of his nose. He dropped the pen in the sink, his ears burning as he went to the night table beside the bed, retrieving the phone and raising it to his ear.

"Yes?"

He was silent for a few moments.

"I will be there."

xXx

There was a very narrow, rather hazardous path just off the main road to the airport, a winding little ledge that slowly shallowed out to a deep cement reservoir trench that was always full of dark, icy water, in the winter. It was early summer, now, and the flow had lost much of its depth and speed, growing a deep green with moss. September pulled the car over and jumped the side rail off the road.

His footfalls took him to a place that felt very familiar to him, as he knew exactly where he was going. Scrubby vegetation lined the cliff-like hillside, and he had to push some branches to the side to traverse the path safely, each bit of plant life that brushed him seeped in raw, savage emotion. His concern growing, he had to slide the last bit of the hill, dust and rubble trailing him as he reached the wide, cement border of the trench, the gravel grinding under the smooth soles of his dress shoes as he strode along.

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" someone asked, and September turned his head, stopping. Walter slouched in the empty base of a large, protruding drain pipe, his hands hanging limply over his knees, and his eyes were red as he stared at his friend, his face slick with tears. The question may have been a joke, but his features were simply too harsh to tell.

"Hello, Walter," September said evenly.

"Did _They _send you? In which case, please keep walking."

"No one has sent me. You invited me." September turned to fully face him, his arms strait at his sides, a motion of perfect honesty.

Walter rubbed his distressed features with his hand, "Did I? I don't believe I did. I think you're lying, that you're a spy."

September offered no answer.

Walter laughed darkly, "Fine, spy away. You'll be disappointed, everyone else is. Vampires, all of them."

"You have not been sleeping," September said, his voice firm with worry, "You are delusional."

Walter only shook his head, swallowing, "It happens, sometimes. Usually in threes; up for three days, out for a day. And so on. I'm on my fifth day, September."

"You're scared," September said softly, taking a few steps closer, but stopped when Walter glanced up at him in warning, his nostrils flaring, "Not of waking, but of sleeping. Why?"

"If I didn't know you, I'd tell you to piss off," Walter replied, but much of his venom was lost. September could see now that his frail frame was trembling and shivering with exhaustion.

"You have unpleasant dreams."

"And you're not always around to kiss me and wake me up," Walter smirked, and September swallowed.

"I thought you'd forgotten," September said emotionlessly.

"That's what you get for waking up in Vegas," Walter replied, and September did not understand the term, "I forget a lot of things, September, but you're always rather prominent, in my ailing noggin," he smiled, tapping himself lightly on the head with his knuckles.

September did not know what to say, and used a term that he'd heard before, a term without much of a meaning, "Okay."

"Do you use sunscreen?" Walter asked.

September blinked, slightly taken aback, "I fail to see how such a question retains relevance, in this situation," he said.

"Just curious. Who wrote on your face?"

September reddened. He'd forgotten to wash away the ballpoint ink on his face before he'd left, "I did," he answered.

"Huh. Well, you can go, now." Walter said, rubbing his eyes tiredly, sighing to make a point of his dismissal, "I doubt you can do much for me, at this point."

September felt something he'd never felt before- a sharp pain, a non-physical experience in the center of his chest. He lifted his hand to touch the area, the pain so intense for a splitting second that he wondered if he'd been shot. And, just as fierce and fleeting as the pain had arrived, it flickered out, and was replaced with a surge of raw anger, "It was going to be a freckle," he said bitterly, "but you called and messed it up."

Walter blinked, "Oh. I'm sorry."

The apology only angered September further, and his hand shot into his coat, drawing out his notebook. He tore the band away, flipping it open to pluck out the small, thin, yellowed piece of notebook paper. He flicked it away with his fingertips, and it bounced against Walter's shoulder, "That's yours. I'm not keeping it anymore." he shut the small book, returning it to his coat and turning to walk away. He wanted to get back to the car and sit down, hoping it would allow the nagging ache in his chest to relent.

He sat in the car for a long while, his head tilted back and his eyes shut. Such a position left him quite vulnerable, but, for some odd reason, he didn't seem to care about his own welfare, at the moment.

At length, the off drivers' door opened and shut, and the pain seemed to intensify as he felt Walter's presence sitting beside him, "You wrote all of this down?" Walter questioned.

"I did," September answered without opening his eyes.

"All of the stuff I like, all of the stuff that I don't like. The lists look nearly identical."

"I've tried for a very long time to understand you, Walter," September said, at last looking over at him, "It's very difficult."

Walter nodded, "I guess it would be. Especially when I'm such a state as I am now. I… I'm very sorry, September."

"I do not want you to apologize to me for being who you are," September said softly, looking at the steering wheel as his stomach seemed to twist. He was convinced that he may be coming down with something, "I am just very, very confused. When you kiss me, I am also delusional, because it sometimes feels like you mean more than you do. I feels like I wish it to feel."

"Like what?" Walter asked softly.

"I do not know. That's why I'm confused." Walter bit the inside of his cheek until it bled- September could feel it himself, and taste it in his mouth, "Please stop," September whispered, then fell silent.

"I could kick myself, you know," Walter said. The page crushed softly in his fist, "I'm so sorry, September."

September only nodded.

September was slightly alarmed as Walter reached forward, taking him by the collar and kissing him. The kiss was quick, a test, and, as Walter saw no objections to his affection, the second kiss lingered, testing yet another barrier of September's acceptance, and September wondered why each kiss tasted differently. And why it seemed impossible to remain angry with Walter.

September's jaw tightened, and he swallowed, before he raised his fingers to bury them in Walter's hair for the kiss. Walter's arms surrounded his waist and he leaned back, taking September with across the island to rest atop his chest and in his lap, " We should hit the backseat," Walter breathed with a grin, "more room."

September's eyes widened with something that may have even been fright.

Moments of silence and warmth passed, before September raised his hand to touch Walter's cheek, as the doctor's face was nestled against his collarbone, and he had stopped gently biting, "Walter?"

A soft snore escaped him.

xXx


	4. Rainwater Taffy

Rainwater Taffy

September 21, 1956

"Piano lessons are the _worst_," Walter Bishop complained, stretching and sighing. He threw his arms up as high as he could reach, and frowned- he was still so short for his age. How much more growing did he have left, he worried? He was already _nine_, he'd die soon… and still be the shortest child in his class. Walter blew air through his cheeks in the manner his decrepit Sunday school teacher did, when he was annoyed.

Ah, but there was the rest of the evening, now that his after school lessons had let out. Walter stood on the cement steps of the studio, his hand playing along the ordinate, cast-iron handrail, his eyes straying out, over the calm street, a car passing with a quiet rush of the autumn air. The melody of Le Damnation De Faust still drummed through his head, somewhere below the bruise composed by a rolled music score, and he frowned, trying to forget the obnoxious melody. Time and time again, he'd heard his tutor speaking with his mother; _'He obsesses over everything! If only he would obsess over music, he would be unstoppable…but he's so…'_

Walter descended the three wide steps, looking down the vacant street for any sign of his mother's car. There was nothing, and distantly, a clock chimed_._ Only three hours before sundown…

He could walk to his house, from here. Why not? He was _nine_, after all. His mother might even be surprised to see him, she might even be so pleased that she wouldn't make him go to any more piano lessons.

That settled it, and the logic seemed sound enough. He would walk home. Walter pulled his leather book bag onto his shoulder, setting out at a run.

He met no one along the street as he went, the bandages he had stuck to the bottoms of his shoes scuffing the muck of the recent rain, and several times he paused to breathe into his scarf, warming his runny nose. Then he would continue on, his bag bouncing against his shoulder as he flushed contentedly, running the scenario of his mothers gratitude over and over in his mind.

He stumbled to a halt and fell, his glasses bouncing from his face as he ground his knee on the cement with a cry. He pushed himself up from the sidewalk, nursing the wound and biting his bottom lip.

"Are you alright there, little boy?" Someone asked, and he looked up, into the concerned, red mustache of a large policeman.

"Yes, sir," Walter replied, his eyes drawn to the shiny glint of the badge pinned to the policeman's breast. He began to wonder about rust-

"That was a nasty spill, just now. Where are you headed, boy?" The policeman questioned, seeming slightly unnerved at Walter's relentless staring.

"Home, sir," Walter replied, taking a hand up and stooping for his bag and glasses as the policeman helped dust small clumps of mud from his dark blue school uniform jacket and brown slacks, "my mother won't make me go to piano lessons, any more."

"Oh- _now _I recognize you," the policeman said as Walter reached up to trace a dirty finger along his badge, "You're that Bishop kid then, are yeh? Robert's yer old man?"

"I'm nine," Walter said as the officer blocked his hand as he reached out to touch the badge again.

"You are Robert's kid- you look just like him. Hey, you want me to walk you home, son?"

"No, sir," Walter said, throwing his scarf over his shoulder, "I'm fine, thanks for your help." He ran past the officer and around the corner.

Sound logic did not make up for getting lost, which was quite suddenly the situation that Walter found himself in, his feet coming to a halt as he gazed down yet another empty street. He could have sworn that he had memorized every turn of the drive to the studio- but, as hindsight was often twenty-twenty, he realized now that perhaps he should have inversed the order of operations…

Walter delved into his book bag in the hopes to find something that would aide him, in his predicament. He found only a few, half-melted crayons, a collection of thumbtacks, buttons, and paperclips that he had stolen from class, a small bag of saltwater taffies, and "Aha!" a small toy compass.

Walter shoveled his assortment of junk back into his bag, pausing as one of the wax paper-wrapped cadies escaped the paper bag to skitter away along the side walk and drop sharply into a storm drain. Walter let out an exclamation of disappointment, buckling the bag shut and hurrying to the side of the drain to peer inside.

The pastel blue candy floated a few moments on the top of the water, just out of his reach, before it was swept away in the current of rainwater. Frowning in determination, Walter dropped to his stomach, squeezing into the narrow ingress at the side of the street, even as his mother's car passed, unnoticed.

He was careful to remove his shoes and socks, as well as roll up his slacks and sleeves to the knees and elbows. His mother wouldn't be pleased, if he got his clothes messy… he flung his tie over his shoulder, held his bag to his chest, and waded into the murky, icy water, heading down the narrow route after his misplaced sweet.

It wasn't long before, once again, Walter was lost. After several attempts to find his way to an exit and an hour of yelling for help, he found himself cold, frightened, and candyless. He wandered his way to a less damp ledge in the massive underground works and curled up on it, his stomach growling loudly in protest as he hugged his bruised knees to his chest and stifled a sniffle.

_What if I never get out? What if mom forgets about me, and I stay down here forever?_

Walter buried his fingers into his hair, whimpering. _What if I die?_

There was a distant splashing, and Walter exclaimed with fear as a bug crossed his shoulder. He curled tighter against the wall, shutting his eyes as the splashes grew louder, closer, wishing with all his might that whatever the monster was, it would pass and leave him unscathed.

Something touched his face and he let out a cry, followed closely by a sob.

The touch retracted, and Walter somehow felt as if, whatever it was… he had hurt its feelings. Practically hyperventilating, Walter opened one eye, readying himself for one of the demons they had threatened him with in his Sunday school class.

"Oh!" Walter exclaimed.

A boy, about his own age, stood before him, incredibly pale, completely naked. The chill of the water did not seem to effect him, even as he had absolutely no hair on his head and dark smears of mud on his body, but Walter's outburst made him step back in alarm. His curiosity found him again, and he crept closer, reaching out to touch Walter's face again, tracing his tears with his fingertips.

"Hello," Walter said, a grin creeping onto his face, "I thought you were a monster, sorry. Are you lost, too?"

The strange boy did not answer, bringing the tears to his mouth for a taste.

Walter pushed his glasses up, rubbing his eyes dry with his sleeve, "Everyone tells me I cry too much. I mean, I'm too grown up to cry, huh?"

The boy said nothing, staring at Walter in very much the same manner Walter had stared at the policeman's shiny badge. And, like Walter, he only seemed to satisfy his curiosities by touching- first Walter's face, particularly his eyebrows, then his thick-framed glasses, then his dark colored curls. He retracted, looking slightly ashamed as Walter gave a laugh.

"No, it's alright," Walter assured him, "It's just that my Gramma does that, too- she's blind." The boy extended a hand to him, and Walter's eyes rounded as he spread his fingers, exposing the slightly dirty, blue taffy, "My taffy!" Walter exclaimed.

The boy retracted again, and after a few moments of consideration, held the taffy to his chest, as if he wanted it.

"Oh, no," Walter said, uncurling from his ledge to hang his legs over the side, "you don't want that one, it's all dirty. Here…" Walter delved into his bag as the stranger watched. Walter emerged with the paper bag, opening it to show him all the taffies, "see? You want one of these," he selected one, holding it out to the boy, "go on. They're really good, I got them at the boardwalk, and I got bunches…to…hah, to share them with friends…"

The boy took the candy, smelling it. He held it to his chest with the other possessively.

"Aren't you going to eat it?" Walter questioned.

The boy tilted his head with question.

Walter unwrapped one of the taffies, popping it into his mouth and chewing, "See?" he said, drooling slightly, grinning, "Ish good."

The boy popped the candy, wrapper and all, into his mouth, swallowing it whole.

"Um- I guess that works…"

The next hour found them sitting together eating the candy, Walter chattering away happily with his newly found friend, "What do you eat, down here?"

The boy pushed a rock aside and obligingly scooped up a beetle, popping it into his mouth, chewing it up and swallowing it.

"Is that good?" Walter questioned uneasily.

The boy raised and lowered one shoulder, unsure of how to respond.

Walter plucked up a wriggling millipede, watching it closely through his glasses. He shrugged, and bit it in half, chewing slowly, analyzing, "Not bad," he concluded at last, finishing the bug, "trade," and he gave the stranger the bag of candies, moving aside another rock in search of more insects to eat. "So, you live down here?" Walter asked.

The boy nodded, seeming alarmed at how the taffy made his teeth stick together.

"Where are your parents? Did they leave you down here? Why?"

The stranger shrugged.

Walter frowned with contemplation, crunching a beetle, "I wonder if this is the place father is always talking about. He keeps telling mom he's going to send me to the hospital, but I'm not sick, so…" he shook his head, then brightened, "but it's alright- you can come and live with me! I'm sure mom won't mind, and I always wanted a little brother. You can wear my Sunday clothes, I only wear them one day a week anyways. Here, try on my coat…"

Soon, the boy stood, dressed in Walter's uniform, seeming slightly uncomfortable at the fabric against his skin, and Walter observed him proudly, stark-bare, "Yep! You're a little shorter than I am, but it shouldn't matter. Come on, let's go- wait, do you know the way out? 'Cos I don't want you to get us lost…"

They emerged in the dark of early evening from a rushing storm culvert beside the road, careful of their footing as they climbed the jagged rocks to the rural street. Walter wore his undershirt and shorts, and the stranger the rest of the shared uniform, blinking around at the surface world through blurry glasses, "Say, what's your name, then?" Walter asked him at last.

The boy appeared confused.

Walter pointed to his own chest, "I'm Walter. You're…" he pointed to the strangers chest, "Who are you?"

The boy seemed slightly frightened of the prospect of titles, something that he was apparently unused to.

"Unless you don't have a name," Walter considered, perusing his barren chin thoughtfully, "Hmm. Well, if you don't have a name, I can give you one. Mother lets me name the cats we get, but I always name them Rufus. There's not much point in any other name, you know? But for you…" Walter stepped away from the boy, squinting at him through the picture frame of his fingers, "How about… September? Because it's September now, and now is when I met you, and it's kind of like you; cold and wet. What do you think?"

The boy raised and lowered one shoulder, seeming at a loss.

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming," Walter grumbled.

A car was coming along the road, the bright headlights flashing off the trees to bathe them in sudden light. September scampered away from it, shirking defensively behind Walter as the car rumbled past. His hand found Walter's, gripping it tightly, his pale eyes round.

"It's only a car, the loud, messy things," Walter assured him, "It's alright. Let's go."

The road Walter recognized as one a fair distance from his home, but at last found himself able to navigate when he compared the route to the one he often traveled on the way home from the dairy farm his parents frequented. From the dim light for the fairly wide spaced street lamps, still sporting their blackout covers, Walter and September made their way, still gripping one another's hand when something would frighten them from the dark.

They reached the gate to Walter's front yard and Walter helped September scale the tree to the roof just outside his bedroom window, where he was instructed to wait, "I want to surprise mom with you," Walter explained brightly, and September only nodded, staring at a birds nest long abandoned in the rafters.

Walter pushed open the front door, dropping his muddy book bag in the entryway and calling, "Mom! I'm home!" He could smell chicken and celery boiling, and made a slight face- he didn't like chicken or celery. But perhaps September could eat his, "Mom!"

There was no answer, and he cautiously made his way into the living room, then the kitchen, looking around curiously, "Mom?"

She was seated at the kitchen table, a tall, conservative-looking woman with a face that looked too tired for her age and hands that were thin and pale, like Walter's own. She was having a cigarette and a large glass of gin over the newspaper, "Mom," Walter said, tugging on the hem of her dress.

"Walter, you're getting my dress dirty."

"Mom, I have a surprise-"

She turned her steely eyes on him, and he swallowed, realizing the predicament he'd stepped into, "Do you think you're just like your father, Walter? Do you think you can just come in at any time you please?"

"No, ma'am," Walter said, drawing back into himself.

"And _look at you_! The doctor said it's not good or you to be breathing the cold air, you'll get sick! And you're absolutely filthy! Where in the world are your clothes?!"

"I-I wanted to surprise you…" Walter mumbled, ashamed of himself as his mother gave him the look she often used on sink clogs before she threw them out.

"Go wash and go strait to bed. I don't want your father to see you like this."

"Father's coming home?"

"_Go_, Walter," she took a long pull of her cigarette and a drink of gin to wash down the smoke.

"What about dinner?" Walter asked, muting on any kind of whine from his voice.

She ignored him and turned the page.

"Are you going to tell him about me?"

She said nothing.

"Please don't, mama. I'm sorry. I'll never do it again," the whine was inescapable, in his request.

"Go to bed, Walter."

He scampered out of the kitchen, hoping that if he did as she said as quickly as he could, it would spare the subject of his deeds from the after dinner conversation. And perhaps what often happened afterward.

Walter shut and locked the door of his bedroom, darting across the room to throw open the window where September sat, playing with a spider web on his fingers, "Come on," he whispered hurriedly, "We'll show you to mom tomorrow." he did not offer an explanation.

They bathed together and September tried on Walter's black Sunday suit and tie, finding it a perfect fit, and Walter gave it to him. Next they changed into pajamas and played monster-under-the-bed, taking turns pulling each other under the bed in the dark.

There was a sudden, rough rapping on the door, and Walter froze in the midst of mounting an assault on September's green tin army men with his own red ones. "In here!" He whispered hurriedly, pushing his friend into the closet, "stay here, it's safe!" and he shut the door.

September knocked on the door, confused at the sudden feeling of fear that seemed to fill him, and he realized then that Walter had given up his own hiding place.

The bedroom door banged open, and September cringed away from the noise, smelling the fear thick in the air as Walter pressed his back to the opposite side of the door, the door knob rattling as he trembled.

September squeezed his eyes shut as Walter was drug out by his hair. An hour passed with September writhing on the floor of the tiny closet, sobbing mutely with his distant friend's pain and fear, his fingernails scratching at the door weakly.

At length, Walter picked himself up from the floor of the study, wiping his split lip with his sleeve and quietly creeping out as his parents argued, throwing breakables to accent their statements. He shuffled off down the hall, knowing that his place in their evening had ended.

He shut his door quietly, and crossed the carpet to slowly pull open the closet door, "September?" he asked with a tired smile.

September stared up at him from the corner, his eyes red and his frail form trembling with exhaustion and dry fear sweat. He blinked, tears escaping the corners of his glistening eyes. Walter's brows furrowed with concern, "Don't be scared, September-"

September burst from the closet, throwing his arms around his friend and squeezing him tightly. Walter stumbled back a few steps as September shifted to repeatedly press wet, remorseful kisses to his mouth.

"It's okay, September," Walter smiled, patting his shoulders, "come on, let's get to bed. It's late." September would not release Walter's hand, even as they curled up together in the sheets, watching each other's faces in the dark, Walter now and again murmuring something to his new friend drowsily until sleep found him at last, muting the angry pains on his body.

xXx

"You're always doing that," Walter murmured from the pillow, and September paused in his dressing to look back at him. Walter smiled, watching him with half-shut eyes, "sneaking out of my bed at some ungodly hour of the after all this time."

"I have pressing engagements," September replied calmly, pulling on his jacket and buttoning it, "I apologize, as I did not mean to wake you."

Walter stretched, letting out a sigh as he flopped lifelessly onto his side, scratching his stomach under the sheets, "But it's different, now."

September did not voice his thoughts, fixing his lapels as he passed the bed.

Walter reached for him lazily, throwing his arms around his friend's middle.

"Walter, I have to go-" September began to protest.

"Give me your hand, you pervert," Walter chuckled with a drowsy grin, and September offered his pale palm, bewildered at the request.

Walter examined it few a few moments, and slowly pressed a kiss to his hand, "It's different because I know you'll come back," he murmured. He released September, retracting back into the covers, "make sure you come back, won't you?"

September curled his fingers around the small, damp place on his hand, as if to protect it, "I will," he answered at last. He gathered up his coat and settled his fedora onto his head, starting for the door.

"September."

He looked over his shoulder.

Walter smirked, his eyes still as brightly mischievous as the first day he had met him, "Your tie is on the lamp," he said, pointing.

xXx


	5. Intake

INTAKE

There it was. Glorious, in all of its canned goodness. A smiling depiction of the jolly green giant beckoned to him, as if to say _come! Sample the joy of the peas that lie within my protective exterior!_

Carefully, he gauged the glass- not too thick, but not thin enough to make a great deal of noise when it shattered. If he hit it just right, he could cause it to cave inward, and not even cut himself. Carefully, ever-so-carefully, September hefted the butt of his shotgun, the once glossy finish marred with chips and teeth every now and again, and slammed it into the thin, plate glass of the store display window.

Immediately, a loud, chirruping alarm sounded, ringing through the vast, cement halls of the shopping mall. It was then answered by distant moaning and shrieks, and the sound of many feet stumbling and scrambling against the tile floor.

September cursed softly, his arm snaking through the shattered window to seize his prize, jamming it into the pocket of his blazer as he pushed away, heading for the exit at a dead run.

He could hear them getting louder- amazingly fast, for nearly no motor skills. But their jaws still worked, and that was what he had to fear.

September scrambled up a crumbling cement police barrier, remnants of the last-stitch efforts of the city authorities to quell 'the Uprising', foolishly thinking the first attacks to be some sort of anarchist or terrorist group. September did not have time to ponder their numerous failures, as he only used their structures to vault for the hanging mesh of a fire escape. He barely caught it, scrambling to keep a hold of the shotgun in the crook of his arm as he painfully began to scale the escape, his shoes scraping the brick wall to color his black soles red.

The Uprising had proven an adequate deterrent from his objectives. Whatever they were, at this point.

One of the first signs of the Uprising approaching was the smell. Something like a butchers' shop without proper cooling. And sweat- but that may have been September himself. He realized that he hadn't bathed in several weeks. The second sign was the screamers- usually female, intent on drawing attention to their chase. They were the loudest- but had the most keen hearing. It did not matter much now, as a dozen or so of the Uprising were swarming the barricade, clawing and stumbling over each other as they grasped for the dangling September.

The last sign was the feel of teeth on the back of your neck.

September's eyes widened as the hanging escape gave a shrill, grinding creak, shuttering slightly. He scrambled for higher ground as the escape slid away from the side of the building, ramming into the pavement with a shower of sparks. September clawed his way higher as the Uprising flooded to the fallen ironwork, and he set his feet to either sides of the railing, leaning away from the metal foot plating to blast both barrels at the creature scratching for his knee.

Blood and brainstuffs spattered the Uprising in range, and September hauled back the pump of the gun, jettisoning the spent cartridges. He reached into his pocket, his now trained fingers seizing two more rounds and drawing them out. He broke the gun, slamming in the new ammunition and taking aim.

Blast after blast later, September seized with dread as the shotgun suddenly jammed. Having no time to address the problem with a screamer nearly at his thigh, he flipped the weapon, burning his palm on the hot barrel as he used it to knock off his opposition. He ignored the blisters but still, he was being overrun.

An altogether dangerously unfamiliar noise suddenly erupted in his eardrums- the sharp, penetrating wail of an air horn being blasted. September looked up from his labours in search of the source as the first of the Uprising released his legs, dropping to the pavement to stumble away with a moan and a short shriek.

The repetitive, metallic rattle of machinegun fire echoed in the vast chaos of the parking lot, as the wailings of the Uprising were silenced, revealing an underlying shouting, "_Here, piggy piggy piggy_!"

One by one, the Uprising dropped from the fallen escape, as September returned to bashing the determined few that stayed behind. When he had finished freeing himself, he was made aware that the gunfire had stopped.

His pulse pounding in his ears, September gingerly climbed down from his protective stance, jumping to land lightly on the pavement, his shotgun at the ready as he peered around alertly.

A lone figure strode between the sprawled bodies, a shot ringing every now and again to silent the moaning of a wounded Uprising. September watched cynically, stepping back against the escape to cover his six as he leveled the shotgun, expecting to defend himself against another raider.

"Yes, well, I was a bit of a fool to think that any of them would have it- dumb of me, I admit," The stranger was muttering and chuckling to himself, apparently unaware of September's presence, "But hell, how hard can it be to _find _one, in a place like this…?" He scratched his head, pulling the handkerchief down from its place across the bridge of his nose.

"You!" September could not stop himself from exclaiming, causing an armed response, and he found himself eye-level to barrel of a 7.62 submachine gun.

He paused, then lowered his gun, finding no threat, "Yes. Me." he returned to rummaging through the dead, muttering to himself.

"Walter Bishop?" September questioned hesitantly, taking a small step forward, "You're Walter Bishop, are you not?"

"_Doctor_ Walter Bishop, if you please," Walter grumbled, blasting a shot into the skull of a twitching body, stilling it, "Resilient bastards, and useless, the lot of them…"

September's hairless brows drew in concern as he followed after the scientist, who was slowly moseying away, "Dr. Bishop, do you know who I am?"

Walter paused, glancing back at him with a frown, "I don't _care _who you are-" and he stilled, his eyes widening, "September?"

September blinked at him blankly, "You did not know it was me?"

"Of course I know it's you!" Walter burst forward, swooping him up into a rather uncomfortable hug, the revolver at his hip jamming September in the thigh, "Oh, sorry. How are you? How are things? Excuse me-" Walter took aim just to the side of September, eradicating another Uprising, "-You were saying?"

"What are you doing here, Dr. Bishop?" September questioned.

"Me? Oh, the usual. Out for a stroll, thought I'd pick up something to eat." Walter chuckled uneasily, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck, "it's the most irrational thing, but I've had this craving for tinned peaches nagging me since the quarantine, hah hah…" September delved into his pocket, drawing out the can of peas and offering them in an effort to add something to the conversation. Walter saw it and grimaced, "I'm not the fondest of peas. Thanks anyways."

"You are risking infection for an irrational picca?" September questioned, "I do not understand."

"I don't either. Were are you headed?" Walter asked, changing the subject as he shifted the gun sling on his shoulder.

September looked around the ravaged mall, his eyes spanning the scorch marks that marred advertisements for the vacant food court. At last he nodded toward the exit nearest them, and Walter looked over his shoulder toward it, "Ah. Need a ride?"

xXx

"I went a little crazy with the welder, I apologize," Walter said as they crossed the empty parking lot, avoiding fallen light posts and empty swat vans, "but better safe then sorry, I like to think," Walter delved into the pocket of his cargos, drawing out a set of keys, a rabbit foot keychain dangling from them as he chirruped the alarm on the iron-plated station wagon before them.

Instinctively September scanned the lot around them carefully, searching for any uprising that may have heard them. None appeared, and Walter opened the off-driver's door for him.

"They won't show up for a while," Walter assured him as he slumped into the driver's seat, "They would have heard the gunshots, by now. Hop in."

They pulled out of the parking lot, and September still thought it felt strange, without the regular main street traffic of a bleak, Wednesday afternoon, and he watched the still cars pass like figures frozen in time. His eyes returned to the peas he held in his lap.

"I've got a can opener in the back, if you really feel like eating those," Walter said, jamming his thumb over his shoulder as he instinctively slowed for the stoplight.

"No, thank you," September replied. He blinked, "What are you doing here, Dr. Bishop? Why haven't you joined the others outside the quarantine?"

"I was only kidding about the doctor thing, September. Credentials don't mean crap about now, do they?" He chuckled, speeding around an overturned semi, "Do I turn, here? Where are you staying?"

September paused, thinking over his answer. He thought of the nights since the Uprising, of all the places he had stolen sleep- in the trunks of cars, dusty corners of attics, drainage grates he could fit into, "Nowhere," he answered honestly, "I've only kept moving."

Walter nodded, "A good plan."

"So anywhere you would like to let me out would be fine-"

"Nonsense!" Walter said with a smile, "I'm taking you home with me! I'm giving you something proper to eat and a… well, a bath, my friend, you smell like them, I'm sorry to say."

September watched Walter for a few moments in silence, "I do not understand. You are taking an unnecessary risk and wasting essential resources to aide me, when I am perfectly capable of sustaining myself. Why?"

"Because you're my _friend_, September. And no one needs to be alone, in a time like this." He smiled again, giving a warning cry of "_Speed bump_!" and the car jolted slightly as they struck another Uprising. Walter started the windshield washer without comment.

xXx

It seemed that Walter had chosen his own turf, for his base of operations- the basement lab of the Kreski building at Harvard. He had explained that the stonework provided a nearly unbreakable fortification, and its subterranean location was ideal for security in the fact that most of the exits could be sealed to the point of being air-tight.

Walter pulled the Vista Cruiser down a cement ramp to the loading dock, shutting off the engine and stilling September as he moved to open his door. They waited in the silence of the car for a few moments, before Walter at last nodded, and they emerged, pulling down an iron-mesh fortification and chaining it shut behind themselves.

September unchained and opened the door into the hallway and jumped back, raising his gun to shoot at the figure that suddenly loomed in the doorway, before Walter stilled him, "Whoa, calm down. It's only a mirror."

September looked confused.

"Come on," Walter chuckled, taking point as they entered. He motioned to the many, tall mirrors that appeared to have been arranged in a maze-like fashion through the hall, "It's to confuse them, you see. Like… security. If they stumble around attacking their reflections, I'll have more than enough time to dispose of them. They aren't the brightest, I'm afraid."

September frowned at the scientists' back, reddening slightly, as he had only just been duped, "A good precaution," he agreed, if only a bit stiffly.

Walter unchained another door, one that had been solidified with the application of sheet metal and bolts, and he rolled it back to clash open on its tracks, giving a sigh and a smile, "Home sweet home," he said.

The interior of the wide laboratory had only minor changes, as the equipment and hardware still appeared to be useable and functioning, but it looked more messy, occasional scraps of clothing and food wrappers scattered about in signs of life.

And there was no place without a gun and ammunition close by.

Walter skipped a step to reach the operating theater, motioning for September to follow, "I'll give you the tour." he motioned to each in turn, "This is the lab, as you can probably see; the back room is where you'll be sleeping; that's Gene- say hi, Gene; this is the couch, feel free to sit on it; that up there is the kitchen- oh! You're probably hungry, I'll make you something-"

"Walter," September interjected softly, stilling him. Walter turned with raised brows, awaiting his question, "…Where is everyone?"

"Everyone?" Walter questioned, a bit nervously.

"Agent Dunham, Agent Farnsworth. Your son," September frowned with concern, "aren't they here with you?"

Walter chuckled uneasily, "No, September. It's just me, here. No need to worry." He shuffled off to the kitchen, beginning to rummage about in the pantry, "I'll make coffee."

September's eyes spanned the lab again, "Did they get out? Before the quarantine?"

There was a crash of glass shattering on the cement floor, and September jumped slightly , his steps swiftly taking him up the grate-metal steps and into the kitchen, "Walter?!"

Walter stood perfectly still against the rail, his eyes locked unblinkingly on the opposite wall. September could feel pressure in his chest, an offset of the grief he absorbed, and his nostrils flared as he smelled the blood that oozed from a cut on the doctors' finger. Septembers' eyes left the face of his companion, turning to the wall across the way, finding nothing.

Walter blinked, and slowly stooped to begin gathering the broken pieces of cup that littered the floor, "I'm sorry. I only cut myself, is all."

"Something is wrong," September said. A statement, not a question.

"No, no. I'm only making a mess, hah." Walter continued with his task, gathering another cup out of the cupboard, "Yes, September, they got out. Only just, though. And if I hadn't gotten separated from them at the last moment, we'd all be out. But, trust an old fool like me to get lost on the way back from the bathroom." Walter let out a tired chuckle and plugged in the coffee machine.

And September knew he was lying.

xXx

September had not known how much he had missed the feeling of clean clothes on his skin, and he felt warmer, when he had changed into the new clothes Walter had provided for him after his shower. This in itself was odd, as September did not feel temperature- let alone, anything in general- in the conventional manner. He emerged from the bathroom rubbing the moisture from his ears with a towel, looking for Walter.

He found him sleeping in front of the television, Gene the cow musing his hair as re-runs of SpongeBob hummed numbly in the background, throwing flashes of vibrant colors off the walls. They had long before drawn down the second shutters, muting any light that might escape, sealing them inside for the night. September had wondered for a while what might happen, if they were attacked, in the night, and Walter had simply told him that "The best defense is deterrent," and he had let it be.

September descended the steps to stand just out of the light of the television screen, watching the sleeping scientist as he thought. The quarantine on the city of Boston had been instated three months earlier, he'd been running from the Uprising ever since. In the time he had been running and surviving, what had Walter been doing? Fortifying this place? Why? Why didn't he simply make his way to the barriers and get out of the city? He didn't have a job to do, like September… he was not forced to watch such horrible destruction.

September looked around the empty lab again. It certainly wasn't a closet he had wedged himself into for the night, and he was glad for the safety, if only to sleep in a horizontal position for once. But the use of the equipment, the charts and notes he'd seen… Walter had not only chosen to fortify this place for its familiarity, he had chosen it for something more.

Its uses. What he could do with it. But what?

September left his sleeping companion, making his way silently through the tables and equipment. He accidentally knocked something astray with his knee, and glanced over his shoulder as it clattered loudly. Walter continued to snooze unheedingly, and September at last made it out of the equipment, his eyes intent on a large store room door, one that Walter had kept locked and had in no way introduced.

September touched the metal surface of the door as he delved into his pocket, drawing out Walter's keys and searching through them. He at last snapped the lock open, carefully removing the chain with as little noise as possible. Taking another glance over his shoulder to make sure that all was well, September pushed the door open, stepping inside.

His breath fogged in the chill, and he brushed aside protective plastic flaps as he ventured further inside. Steel drawers lined one wall, along with crates containing tall tanks of chemicals, but something more drew September's attention- three canopied gurneys, lined in a row down the center of the cooler. He approached them, using his thumb to rub a spot clear in the plastic and peer inside.

"_What are you doing?!_"Walter demanded from behind him, and September looked up at him. Walter swept across the cooler, forcing September to take a step back.

"Walter, why is Peter--" September started.

"None of your damn business!" Walter snapped, turning and peering in on his son, "Just go! Get out of here!"

"They didn't make it out of the quarantine," September said seriously, "they were infected."

"They're not one of them yet!" Walter snapped, turning back to September, "The virus is still in it's beginning stages. If I keep their circulation lower, it can't spread as rapidly, I still have time-!" He looked over his shoulder at what appeared to be white-draped medical coffins, "I still have time…"

"You're creating a cure?" September questioned, "but… the virus is fatal, in less than one hour, they said it in the reports. Walter… they're dead."

September suddenly felt a rush of anger, like a wounded animal lashing out on savage impulse, and Walter barred his teeth, a deep growl escaping from deep within his throat as he lurched forward, gripping September by the throat and slamming him back against the freezer doors, "Shut up! Death is relative- there's still a chance for them! Don't you dare say that there isn't! I can _save_ them!"

"Walter-!" September exclaimed, clawing at his grip.

Walter blinked, then sighed shortly, releasing him and sweeping back to where his son lay, "It's not fair. It was all my fault. I did get lost, and they came looking for me… we got separated, and the Uprising… it got to them, and…"

September swallowed, messaging his bruised throat. It took him a few seconds to register- Walter was crying.

September stepped away from the wall, "Walter…" He reached out to touch the back of his shoulder.

"I have to _do _ something, September. They're-they're… because of _me_, so I have to fix it…"

"It's alright, Walter. I understand. And if anyone can do it, it's you. If anyone can fix all of this, it's you."

"September-!" Walter wept. He suddenly wrapped his arms around his friend, burying his face into his collar. September blinked in shock for a moment, when he was washed with the angst and shame that Walter emitted, and at last raised a hand to stroke his hair gently.

"It's alright," September assured him again, "You said it yourself. No one needs to be alone, in a time like this." He was again surprised as Walter lifted his head to kiss him.

"Don't leave me alone," Walter whispered, his tone slightly strained. He was begging, "Please."

September felt something he had never felt before- as if Walter's grief had become his own, and his throat seemed to seize with pain, as he gripped the sides of Walter's face, kissing him deeply, "I'll never leave you."

xXx

There was a shattering noise that woke him from his sleep, and immediately September sat up from his place on the futon, instinctively searching about for his shotgun. He jumped as he felt a hand touch his spine, "Shh," Walter whispered, "be quiet. Stay here, I'll go check it out." He placed a kiss to the back of his shoulder, rough with a slight stubble, and pushed his way out of the blankets.

Walter did not turn on any lights as he dressed, and September could hear the grind of the carbine chamber being readied, as Walter opened the door and went out, into the lab.

September fumbled in the dark for his own clothing, pulling on his borrowed jeans and tee, and he pushed his feet into a cold pair of boots, rising and gathering his shotgun before he ventured out, after Walter.

"Walter?" He whispered into the dark.

"Stay there. They're at the front- stuck in the mirrors." There was another sound of shattering, from outside the bolted door. Walter was no doubt at the breakers, and after a brief countdown, threw the switch, setting off the nearly blinding lighting in the halls of the Kreski building. There erupted hisses and screams, accented with the wails of screamers. The battering began, on the steel door, and Walter cursed, "They're past the mirrors."

September swallowed, his grip tightening on his gun.

Walter considered their situation for a few moments, before he decided at last, "Come on. If we go out the back, we can flank them, and take them out on our way back in." He led the way to the stairs , and September followed him up, holding his breath as Walter pushed open the heavy hatch with a grunt of effort.

They made their way across the frozen grounds, past the shuttered windows and toward the loading dock, creeping under the broken gate, every sense piqued. Walter gave a dark chuckle as he pulled the gate shut behind them, sealing them inside. They scampered up the ramp, and Walter slowly pushed open the ajar door, his rifle trained for Uprising.

There came a growl and a short shriek, as one spotted them, rushing forward only to be met with Walter's gunfire. More foul-smelling bodies began to funnel toward them, Walter efficiently placing his bullets in each skull as September blasted off limbs.

September was reloading when there was a groan behind them, and he glanced back sharply to see arms snaking under the ajar gate, "Walter!" He called.

"I know! Get over to the lift mechanism--" He blasted an Uprising that had seized his neck, "--and shoot it! It should drop for good!"

"But-"

"I'm fine! Go!"

September bit the inside of his cheek, and darted across the hood to scramble up the cement steps, taking aim at the chain-driven lift and blasting it with both barrels. The heavy steel shutters dropped sharply, severing writhing limbs, "Got it!" September confirmed. He turned as he jammed his hand into his pocket for more shells, and suddenly froze with shock, " _Walter_!"

Walter gave a cry as jaws closed on the back of his exposed neck, gnashing savagely. Walter barred his teeth, reaching back to grip his attacker and fling him over his shoulder. He rattled a few shots into the Uprising, and raised a hand to touch the bloody wound.

September slammed two shells into the gun, snapping it shut as he jumped the steps, blasting back the swarming uprising. Blood and flesh spattered the shattered mirrors, as Walter and September steadily worked their way inside.

Walter was panting with pain and exertion as he slumped against a wall, swallowing back the lump in his throat. "There should only be a few more, September," Walter panted.

"That was the last one," September corrected, jettisoning a spent shell.

Walter smiled tiredly, "That's _never_ the last one. Just keep your eyes open…"

"Walter, you-"

"I know. I only have a little while, so you have to listen to me. My research- everything I've done, it's all in this lab. I've shown you around, you can get the hang of it…" He slumped lower, on the wall, before September caught him, "Shit, this burns. I was so close… but you have to do something, for me."

"What is it?"

"You have to save them, September. It's too late for me, now. But please, September… please save my son."

"Walter-"

"The virus… it hibernates. They aren't dead. If you keep them cold enough, it can't spread… and if they're dead, the virus can't use their cells to reproduce… so I know they aren't dead, they're alive, if only on a cellular level…" He was trembling as he placed a hand on September's cheek, "You were so kind to me, September. I'm sorry, but please…"

"Dr. Bishop… Walter…" September whispered, "You can't…"

Walter raised his gun sharply, to blast an emerging Uprising, "We're having a moment, you pricks!" September suddenly issued a chuckle, and Walter blinked up at him in shock, "September… you _smiled_."

"I don't know how I did it," September confessed.

"Then I'm blessed," Walter smiled in return. He placed a kiss to September's lips, and settled his face on his shoulder, shutting his eyes as he grew still.

September's hands gathered the scientists' cardigan in fists, as he was seized with a pain that was all his own.

xXx

END.


End file.
